Bloody Moor: A Ghost Story (Taryn's Camera Book 8)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  Nicki began the process of placing her violin back in its case. Taryn noticed that it was covered with stickers from various cities and countries. Stickers that read Dubrovnik, Sarajevo, Paris, Prague, Cesky Krumlov, Bruges, Bregenz, and Vienna. She’d never even heard of some of those places; she was intrigued. And perhaps even filled with a little jealousy. Here, in front of her, was a young woman who had apparently traveled the way Taryn had always wanted.

  “I’d better go start poking around the garden,” Nicki smiled. “It’s very good to meet you.”

  As Taryn left the music room and began going back up the main flight of stairs, she grinned to herself. She’d talked to Miriam for awhile and now Nicki. Plus, there had been the store clerk at the small arts and crafts supply store who had filled her in on the best places in town to eat at. And she was meeting Miriam in a little bit to discuss Kind Arthur.

  Apparently she had to move to Wales to get a social life.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE POND, OR “LAKE” AS MIRIAM CALLED IT, was so thick with lily pads that it appeared green. On the far side, Taryn could see two dilapidated Victorian boathouses.

  “Are they going to do anything to those?” Taryn had asked Miriam earlier.

  “I hope so,” she’d replied. “I think they’d make nice little guest cottages in the future.”

  Now, the two women sat on a bench in the fading sunlight, watching the steam start to rise from the tranquil water. Miriam wore a bright red cardigan around her shoulders and she tugged it tighter now. Taryn slunk down inside her jacket, thankful it was lined with wool. They could’ve gone back inside the house, but Paul was currently skulking around and Taryn had no desire to see him. Miriam didn’t seem to have a problem dealing with him-she snapped back at whatever he put forth. But Taryn just didn’t have the energy.

  “So,” Miriam began, her breath making little puffs of white in the chill, “you want to know about the Grail.”

  “Yes, whatever you can tell me,” Taryn prodded.

  “It’s interesting,” Miriam mused thoughtfully, “that the house doesn’t get the Grail tourists. People flock to Glastonbury to see the well and the water there but they forget that we have Grail history, too. I suppose people have simply forgotten about us over the years…”

  Taryn turned and looked back over her shoulder, saw the sad-looking house slumping in the graying sky. It did look forgotten.

  “So, as you probably know,” Miriam began again, “the cup, or the Holy Grail, was supposedly used by Jesus Christ in the last supper. You can see it in the famous painting, although the real one was made of simple olive wood and not nearly so fancy as all that.”

  Taryn smiled with encouragement. Miriam’s lyrical accent was soft and melodious and it warmed Taryn just listening to her. She found herself placated in the other woman’s presence, just as she had felt cheerfully optimistic in Nicki’s earlier. She was just enjoying listening to her speak.

  “According to the tale, when the Abbey dissolved under King Henry, the cup traveled to Ceredigion House with the seven monks from the Strata Florida Cardiganshire. You can still see what’s left of that abbey, if you’ve an interest in such things. When the last of the months passed on, the cup stayed here, locked away in a small cupboard.”

  “Did people know that it was here or was that kept a secret?” Taryn asked.

  “Oh, they knew well enough that it stayed here,” Miriam told her. “In fact, many people used to travel here to drink from it believing that it had magical healing powers. The part of the cup that’s missing is because of the people nibbling and biting at the wood, hoping it to be their miracle. Some would have rather come here than to a real doctor. My own great grandmother claimed it cured her infertility. She drank from the cup and conceived my grandfather the next week.”

  Taryn took this information and considered it thoughtfully. “They still travel to Glastonbury to drink from the well now, don’t they? Isn’t that where the Cup is meant to be now? In the Chalice Garden?”

  Miriam nodded. “That’s what they say.”

  “So what was it like when it was here?”

  “During its time here, Iona’s mother made a bit of a ceremony to those who traveled to drink from it,” Miriam said. “The one doing the calling would be sent into the Morning room where they’d be greeted by Aeronwen, Iona’s mother. She would have already removed it from its hiding place by then, you see, and have placed it on the console table in front of the window. The visitor would wait while she filled it with fresh water from the lake here, then they’d drink. When they were finished, Aeronwen would take them into the parlor where they’d have a cup of tea. At that time, her maid would replace the real Cup, changing it out with a fake, just in case the visitor was not principled and tried to take it.”

  Taryn laughed. It didn’t sound like times had changed much over the centuries. “And did that ever happen? Someone try to take it?”

  Miriam nodded sagely. “All too often, from what I’ve been led to believe. They are said to have gone through more than twenty-five imposter cups.”

  “Dang.”

  “They would pay for the miracle, naturally. Records were kept of such things. Some people left behind silver and gold watches, others other pieces of jewelry. Only the wealthy could afford to come.”

  “So not a charitable deal then, huh?” Taryn asked.

  Miriam shook her head. “When Aeronwen passed on, it became Iona’s job to do the same.”

  “So people liked her for awhile,” Taryn said. “They came to her to be healed?”

  “Oh yes. She wasn’t always regarded a witch. Up until the time of her father’s death, she was revered in these parts as a healer, not to mention a social society lady,” Miriam replied.

  “And she died…how?”

  “When Garym, the head of the stable yard, was found stabbed in the chest in her bedroom,” Miriam said, ducking her head. It was almost completely dark now. Taryn could barely see the lake, even though it was only a few feet in front of them. “They were sure she’d murdered him to keep him from turning her in for witchcraft, never mind what he was doing in a young lady’s bedroom. And then the townspeople came for her.”

  “’Came for her’,” Taryn repeated. “As in killed her?”

  Miriam nodded sadly. “A hanging. There hadn’t been witch hangings in a very long time in this area, and there was a trial over her death, but it was all swept under the rug. Most agreed there was evil to her and were glad she was gone.”

  “But she couldn’t have been very old, right?”

  “Only nineteen,” Miriam said. “Not old at all, at least not by today.”

  Well, Taryn thought, no wonder her ghost is pissed off.

  “So what happened to the Cup once Iona died?”

  Miriam shrugged. “Someone took it, of course, and the next thing we heard was that it was being kept over in Glastonbury. To be honest, nobody knows. It might very well still be here in Lampeter, or Aberystwyth.”

  Taryn, whose teeth were now chattering, rose from the bench. “I think we ought to head back inside,” she urged. “I can’t feel my feet.”

  “Neither can I,” Miriam laughed. “Say, you ought to come out with the ladies one night. Have a drink at the pub. I can come and fetch you.”

  “I would like that,” Taryn said. She wasn’t much for going to bars but she wanted to know what pub life was really like. And it sounded fun.

  They had almost reached the small porch when Taryn paused and turned to Miriam. “By the way, you say that it was stored in a cupboard here. Do you know where that was?”

  “Sure,” Miriam grinned. “Your bedroom.”

  Taryn sighed, feeling a combination of delight and consternation. Of course it had been. Of course she was living in the same room where the Holy Grail had been hidden away.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE STAINLESS STEEL APPLIANCES were out of place in the earthy kitchen with the brown, almost adobe-like, walls and sub
dued terracotta tiles.

  The overhead light had been too stark so Nicki had turned on the lamp that set on the long, flat table in the middle of the floor. The soft lamp light was less intrusive.

  Taryn was surprised at how well they’d gotten along in the kitchen, considering they didn’t know one another. Nicki had prepared the frozen chicken Kiev’s, defrosting them and adding seasoning and butter before sticking them in the oven, while Taryn had cut up vegetables for a stir fry. While they waited for the food to cook, they’d sat down at the table and chatted.

  “How long have you been doing this?” Taryn asked. She couldn’t imagine that Nicki had been at her job for long; she barely looked out of high school.

  “Five years now,” Nicki replied then giggled. “I know, I look ten. I’m twenty-three. My dad, though, does this as well so I’ve been around it for most of my life.”

  “Where’s your dad now?”

  “He’s over in Reading,” Nicki answered. “He gets projects that are a tad more glamorous than this one. He worked on Buckingham, for instance.”

  Taryn was suitably impressed. She wanted to be able to casually toss around things like that.

  “I don’t mind this though,” Nicki sighed as she looked around and took in the room. “I rather like these sad, old houses. They seem to have more personality, right?”

  “Right,” Taryn agreed.

  “So how long have you been drawing and painting these?”

  “Since college,” Taryn answered. “Twelve years, almost.”

  “What got you into it?”

  “I’ve always loved old houses, old buildings. You know, anything that’s falling apart,” Taryn laughed. “And I’d always enjoyed painting and drawing. I didn’t realize this could be an actual career until college, though. I got a degree in Historic Preservation and worked in a historical home in Nashville. That’s where I’m from. They had me do a project and it kind of snowballed from there.”

  “I imagine it keeps you on the road a lot,” Nicki said.

  When the whistle blew on the kettle, without asking she got up and poured two cups of tea. Taryn watched as she added milk and sugar in proper amounts (lots of sugar, little milk) and then handed Taryn a saucer.

  “Thank you,” Taryn said. Used to being on her own so much, it felt both awkward and soothing to have someone do something for her. Of course, when Matt was around he took care of her. That wasn’t often enough to be taken for granted yet, however.

  As though reading her mind, Nicki grinned and leaned forward. “So you have a man? A husband, a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  “A boyfriend,” Taryn replied with a smile. “I’ve known him most all my life but the boyfriend part is still kind of new.”

  “That’s nice,” Nicki sighed. “I had a boyfriend, Eddie, up until last month. I was just on the road so much that it was difficult to maintain the relationship. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do,” Taryn nodded. “We don’t even live in the same states so it’s been very hard.”

  “I didn’t even need to take this project,” Nicki confided, leaning forward again. “I mean, I have savings and it’s quite large at the moment. I could have said no. This house, this place, it was the final nail in the coffin.”

  From somewhere above them came a harrowing crash, a sound that rattled both women and had them recoiling in surprise.

  “Well, that was ironic enough wasn’t it?” Nicki tried laughing it off, though her voice was shaky.

  Taryn gulped and nodded. It was Paul, surely it was.

  “So you didn’t have to take this project and you did anyway?” Taryn prodded gently. She was spooked and sometimes it helped to keep talking.

  “Yes. I don’t even know why I did it,” Nicki complained. “I just felt…”

  “Compelled?” Taryn offered.

  “Yes!” Nicki cried, slapping her hand on the table. Caramel colored tea spilled over the rim of her cup and filled her delicate saucer. “’Compelled’ is the only way to describe it.”

  Taryn nodded and took a sip of her tea. It was delicious. She decided then and there that nobody but Nicki should ever make her tea again. “I know what you mean,” she said at last. “I felt it too.”

  “Really? What happened to you?”

  Taryn quickly filled her in on the trip to the astrologer. She told her about the map, about Wales supposedly having her destiny and fate awaiting, and about the letter that came not long after. When she was finished, Nicki sat back against her chair and whistled.

  “I believe in all that, you know,” she said slowly. Her voice low, dramatic. As she slowly looked around the room, she let her eyes grow wide and her mouth drop open. She managed to look equal parts creepy and cartoonish and Taryn couldn’t help but laugh. “This whoo-whoo stuff. ‘The Twilight Zone’. It’s all true!”

  “Yes,” Taryn agreed wryly. “I’m starting to believe it myself.”

  “Do you know about the ghosts and stuff? About the curse? About the bloody moor?” Nicki asked, letting her voice and eyes return to normal.

  “I’ve heard a lot of it but I am learning more and more,” Taryn said. “I was just asking Miriam, the housekeeper, about the Holy Grail.”

  “Oh yes,” Nicki nodded. “I knew about that growing up. About the Grail and King Arthur and all of those fun things.”

  “I don’t know a lot about either,” Taryn confessed. “But I’d like to learn. Since, you know, I’m here and everything.”

  “If you really want to learn about King Arthur then take it from the women-read ‘The Mists of Avalon’,” Nicki suggested. “You’ll find the whole story, but from the women’s point of view. It’s amazing.”

  “I haven’t heard of it,” Taryn said. “Sounds good, though.”

  Nicki rose to her feet. “I brought my copy with me. I never travel anywhere without it. I’ll be right back!”

  Taryn was surprised at how lonely the kitchen felt without her companion. She let her gaze wander around the dimly lit kitchen, taking in the dark-colored bottles of oils and vinegars, the homey landscapes on the wall, and the antique farm tools leaning together in the corners. Unlike the rest of the house, this room had a relaxed, pleasant feel to it. Its rustic ambience cheered her, made her feel like she might be back in Liza Jane’s farmhouse kitchen in Kentucky.

  Her eyes landed on the smooth stone entryway that welcomed people coming in from outside. The slate-slab floor was smooth and worn from years of heavy use-the heavy footsteps of hard-working staff over the centuries. She could imagine them now, filing in from the fields, stables, and gardens. Walking in time to the clanging of the dinner bell that would have rung for them. The heavy metal bell still hung from a black metal hook outside the kitchen door.

  It didn’t take Nicki long to return and when she waltzed through the door, she carried a thick paperback under her arm.

  “I’m almost jealous of you,” she sighed, handing the volume to Taryn. The cover showed a woman with jet black hair fanning out from her face like flames. She stood on a hillside, a tower at her back, and watched over a shiny lake. The thick fog rolled in over the glassy water, much like it did at Ceredigion House. In fact, Taryn was a little taken aback at how much the cover model resembled Iona.

  “Why are you jealous?” Taryn asked, accepting the book from Nicki’s hands.

  “I would love to be able to go back in time and read it for the first time,” Nicki grinned. “It’s a beautiful book, a wonderful experience. You’ll see.”

  Taryn was excited. She loved to read-would read most anything. She even lined her cereal box up with the carton of milk and sugar package at the breakfast table so that she’d have ample reading material while she ate.

  “Well then, I am looking forward to it.”

  The timer went off for the chicken just then so the women set about pulling dishes out and serving themselves. Once they’d returned to the table, they commenced their talk about Ceredigion House.

  “How do you feel a
bout the ghost stories?” Nicki asked, her mouth full of chicken.

  “I think they’re real,” Taryn replied. She felt the need to be totally honest with her new friend, and got the feeling that Nicki was not one to judge. “It seems right, you know?”

  “I did hear something earlier that kind of freaked me out,” Nicki admitted.

  “What did you hear?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Nicki shook her head. “But I was outside on the landing and heard this, I don’t know really what to call it, but I suppose a moan would have to do. A rather loud moan. I jumped a little.”

  “I would imagine so,” Taryn told her.

  “I poked around a bit but there wasn’t anyone nearby; not anyone I could see anyhow.”

  “I’ve heard noises myself,” Taryn confessed. “And seen a few odd things.”

  “I try not to jump to supernatural conclusions right away,” Nicki said. “I try to find the logical explanation where there is one.”

  “That’s a good way to be about it.”

  “I mean, it could very well have been the water from the underground culverts.”

  Taryn frowned at the news. “I didn’t know they had such things.”

  “Oh yes,” Nicki said. “Right outside, under the portico, there’s a door that takes you down to a cobbled area. That’s where the entrance is. The underground culverts run beneath the house.”

  “No idea that was there,” Taryn mused thoughtfully. “Guess I haven’t finished my exploring.”

  “There’s a cellar of some sorts there,” Nicki said. “I think they even grew mushrooms down there at one point. Oh, and they say that there’s a tunnel that goes all the way to Aberystwyth Castle-that it’s how the Holy Cup was sneaked in and out of the house.”

  “Interesting,” Taryn said. “Are there other places around here that have Holy Grail stories? Like, do any other places claim to have it, or to have had it?”

  “Not that I know of,” Nicki said. “I’m from Cardiff and my parents were very much into folk stories and legends. Here and Glastonbury is all I’ve heard.”